


long story short

by thecryptictaxi



Series: evermore [5]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Break Up, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Moving On, Pre-Canon, Sugar Bowl Generation, also bertrand used to date ernest, as they should - Freeform, b&b leaving vfd together, which is how he realized vfd is messed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29532615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryptictaxi/pseuds/thecryptictaxi
Summary: Bertrand's reputation was at an all time low. He was questioning V.F.D. — their morals, their methods, their traditions — and everyone knew that was single-handedly the worst thing a volunteer could do. Of course, the fact that he used to date a fire-starter didn't help either.But he was with Beatrice now, and he was all about her. They were leaving V.F.D. behind for good this time.
Relationships: Beatrice Baudelaire/Bertrand Baudelaire, Bertrand Baudelaire & Kit Snicket, Bertrand Baudelaire/Ernest Denouement, Ernest Denouement & Frank Denouement
Series: evermore [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107644
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	long story short

**Author's Note:**

> in case you haven’t noticed i love bringing up the irony of kit’s fondness for the lathe of heaven by ursula k. le guin and you might see it multiple times in this fic

“Drinking liquor now, are we?”

Bertrand didn’t need to look up from his glass to know who was speaking. He had been acquainted with that voice ever since he was a small child. He took a long sip of scotch before he replied. “What are you doing here, K?”

“Checking up on you.” Bertrand heard her letting out an exasperated breath. “You’re doing some risky shit, B.”

“Yeah, well maybe the situation warrants it.”

“Why did you do it? Is this all to impress E?”

“No,” Bertrand replied shortly. “This has nothing to do with him, actually. I’m doing this because I have morals. Have you ever even stopped to think that orphaning young children and kidnapping them is _bad_? Don’t you want to stop it? Or do you just not care?”

“Of course it’s bad, Bertrand,” Kit said. “Of course I don't want our organization to kidnap children. I want to stop it. Do you think I _enjoyed_ being taken from my parents? Do you think I _enjoy_ not seeing my brothers — _brother_ now — for years on end? No. I hate it! But ultimately, that’s not for us to decide. We don’t have the leisure to go around stopping recruitments when the world is quite literally going up in flames. Until the world stays quiet, we don’t have a choice.”

“Are you really pulling the ‘for the greater good’ bullshit right now?” Bertrand chuckled dourly. “ _The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means._ Did you even read the book? It’s your favorite, isn’t it? Or did the lesson just completely fly over your head?”

“Shut up.”

“Or what?”

“Don’t ‘or what’ me. We’re not children.”

“Do you really believe that there will be an end? An end to the Schism, the end to every fire in the world? Don’t tell me you’re naive enough to believe that propaganda they feed you. There isn’t ever going to be an end to this.”

“So what, you’re just going to start fires now? They do that too, you know. They fire-starters? They also kidnap children. Siding with them isn’t going to change anything.”

“What are you trying to insinuate, Snicket?” Bertrand snapped. “You think that I’d ever resort to arson? I’m not your ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh, as if Ernest is any better,” Kit seethed.

“Despite what you think, Ernest’s not evil. He does what he does to keep his brothers safe. _And_ , he also happens to disagree with V.F.D.’s methods of recruitment.”

“Okay, go ahead and defend your fire-starting boyfriend. But don’t come running to me when he inevitably betrays you.”

Bertrand watched in silent fury as Kit snatched up her V.F.D. disguise kit (though it looked like a regular brief case to the untrained eye) and left the bar. Setting down his empty glass, he sighed. He could just imagine the disappointed look on Dewey’s face if he ever found out about this fight. 

After his altercation with Kit, Bertrand wandered the streets of the City, downcast. Out of all three of the Snicket siblings, he had always gotten along best with Kit, and their fights always left a bitter taste on his mouth. 

He knew she wasn't to blame — he didn’t doubt that his recent actions came as a shock to everyone. He was S. Theodora Markson’s favorite apprentice, and one of V.F.D.’s best volunteers. He was their pride and joy, and they perched him on a pedestal for the younger volunteers to look up to. But he was angry; angry at V.F.D., angry at Kit… and at the world for putting him in this situation. 

Back when he had found out that Dewey and Kit were dating, he tried to distract himself from the fact that his long-time crush was dating one of his best friends. That led him down a rabbit hole of questionable decisions, from latching onto Dewey’s look-alike to his little “rebellion,” and what started out of drunken spite ended up as quite reasonable doubt of the organization he grew up in and genuine feelings for a man he used to avoid.

Involuntarily, his feet took him to an all too familiar building. The Hotel Denouement.

“Here to see Dewey?” Frank said when Bertrand approached him in the lobby.

“Yes,” he lied.

Frank raised a single, disbelieving eyebrow. 

“Oh. I see. He’s in room 230.”

Dewey was not in room 230. Instead, Ernest was there, dusting off the small collection of bibles in the room. Bertrand let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Ernest asked.

“Sometimes I forget how good Frank is at reading people. I think he spotted my lie about visiting Dewey, because he directed me here.”

“Frank always knows when someone is lying,” Ernest murmured, dropping the duster and reaching for Bertrand’s hand. “It’s intrusive at times, but I suppose I can’t blame him for sending you my way faster.”

Bertrand grabbed Ernest by the waist and threw their bodies onto the newly made bed. They fell with a soft thud and they stayed like that for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes. 

“I ran into K today. We got into a fight.” Bertrand eventually broke the silence.

“Ah. Am I correct in guessing that the fight was over myself?”

“In a way. She seems to be under the impression that my rebellion was because I wanted to impress you.”

“And was it?” Ernest smirked.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bertrand replied, slapping Ernest’s lingering hand away. “I was just tired. Tired of V.F.D., its propaganda...”

“You never did tell me what made you change your mind exactly.”

Bertrand hesitated. “I… I didn’t realize I was being fed lies because I was so concerned with being good. Being the perfect volunteer. Everyone told me that it was the only way to go, that if I did anything else I was evil. I was a volunteer, and that was it. I didn't know that there was any other option. If the shoe fits, walk in it ‘til your high heels break, right?”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“All of my friends believed this, too. And I avoided fire-starters like a plague. I even avoided fighting them. I always picked my battles but after… after Dewey, I got careless. I let the battle pick _me_ , and I came face to face with you. I think hearing about your perspective changed my views. You’re not evil. You’re just protecting the people you love.”

“V.F.D. is a pile of horseshit,” Ernest said, making Bertrand snort in a very undignified way.

“You could say that again.”

Bertrand stroked a thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek.

“You do know that I love you, right?”

“Have I ever doubted your love?”

“Well…”

“That doesn’t count, asshole, I had just found out that you’d been hooking up with me because I looked like your straight childhood crush. Which was very creepy, by the way.”

“I’m sorry,” Bertrand said. 

Ernest let out a good-natured laugh. “You could make up for that right now.” 

He guided Bertrand’s hand lower on his body, a teasing smile gracing his lips. Bertrand let out a little gasp as they closed the gap between them, then clung to Ernest’s lips like a lifeboat. Their kiss was wet and sloppy as they fumbled with the many buttons on Ernest’s suit.

Both of their clothes had been haphazardly thrown on the floor when Bertrand froze in realization.

“B?”

Room 230. Bertrand’s mind raced as he recalled the classifications for the Dewey Decimal system. 200 was for religion. And 30...

“Are you sure we should be doing this in the Christianity room?”

Ernest laughed out loud.

“Oh darling,” he whispered, digging his fingers into Ernest’s bicep. “You know we’ve both done worse. Now, are you going to fuck me or not?”

* * *

Bertrand sat in the same bar as he did all those months ago. He was downing scotch like his life depended on it, and it was almost déjà vu when Kit showed up.

“Go away,” he said, his words slurring together.

“Nope, not doing that.” She snatched the glass out of his hand and set it aside. “How many of these did you have?”

“I dunno… like twenty?”

“There’s no way you drank twenty shots of whiskey.”

“He drank nine, if you include that one,” the bartender told her helpfully. 

After paying for the drinks (as well as a generous tip to silence the bartender in case Bertrand had said something classified), Kit hauled Bertrand out of the bar and into the back seat of the taxi. The disapproval was clear on her face.

The ride home was silent. Bertrand slumped against the window, the buzz in his head drowning out any coherent thoughts. He had always hated that he was a lightweight — something his friends constantly teased him about — but tonight, he was glad for it. 

“He broke up with me.”

“I know.”

“You were still wrong though.”

“What?”

“At the bar,” Bertrand explained. “When we fought. You told me not to come running when he betrayed me. Ernest didn’t… he didn’t betray me.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. He left you there alone.”

“I knew he was going to do that. He told me the day before.”

“Why did you go, then?” Kit questioned, staring at him via the rear view mirror. “If you knew he was going to leave you there.”

“I needed to be sure.”

“Of…?”

“That he had truly broken up with me. He told me he wanted us to break up and I didn’t believe him, so I followed him. He was telling the truth, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t even know why.” His face scrunched up in pain. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

“Bertrand,” Kit said sternly. “If you ever say those words again, the hangover you’ll feel tomorrow will only be a taste of what I’ll do to you. You’re perfect as you are.”

“Thanks, Kit,” he mumbled. “You’re the best.”

* * *

It was midnight, and Frank Denouement sat across from his triplet, a chess board between them. He studied the board with intensity and carefully, cautiously, moved his bishop.

They were in room 794 playing chess as they did every Sunday. It was a decades long tradition, one that started even before they had been recruited. They would play a round or two of chess, then they would go down to the underground library to share a cup of tea with Dewey. Their relationship was rocky — even downright malicious at times — but Ernest insisted on it every week no matter the circumstances, muttering something about not letting V.F.D. take yet another tradition away from them. Frank humored him, mostly to keep him in a good mood. 

That night, however, Ernest did not look very happy. His eyes were red rimmed and Frank could hear the occasional sniffle escaping his mouth. For both of their sake, he ignored it and carried on as normal.

“Check,” Frank said smoothly.

“Nice try.” Ernest’s voice was sarcastic as he moved his rook over four squares, blocking Frank’s initial attempt.

Raising a single eyebrow and maintaining eye contact with his triplet, Frank moved his knight. “Checkmate.”

Ernest did not let out a sigh, or a frustrated groan, or even an appeal for a second round. Instead, he looked down at his lap defeatedly. Unspeaking, he picked up his pieces and began placing them back into the box. 

“You don’t want to play another round?”

“Not today. Put your pieces away before you go.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t do that without you telling me. Remind me, who’s the one who keeps the hotel perfectly organized, again?”

Ernest ignored his reply. “Good night, Frank.”

“Hold on. Aren’t we going down to see D?”

“I can’t tonight. Feel free to go by yourself.”

As Ernest got up, Frank grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Ernest tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. 

“Let go,” he growled.

“What’s going on, Ernest? You showed up late to chess, and then you only played one round. And now you don’t want to go see Dewey? Is something wrong?”

“Fuck off, Frank. Mind your own business.” Ernest tugged. “I _said_ , let me go.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re acting like this. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Why do _you_ care?” Ernest said sharply, finally pulling himself free and pushing past his triplet. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

Frank sighed and picked up the chess box and followed Ernest out of the room. His brother had always been stubborn — emotional, too, though he had grown very good at faking his real feelings — and now, more than ever, it was difficult to get a single truth out of him. Frank could only hope he would open up eventually.

They got on the elevator together, and the ride down was uncomfortably quiet. Frank stood still, his spine straight and shoulders back, and ignored the death glares Ernest was sending in his direction.

“You know you can always tell me the truth, right?” Frank said.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

“It’s not good to keep your emotions bottled up.”

“That’s hypocritical coming from you, Mr. Stoic.”

Frank didn’t have anything to say to that. Ever since they were children, he had always been the serious one. He had to — he was the oldest, and it was his job to protect his siblings. Emotions would only get in the way.

“I don’t even know why you want to know,” Ernest continued. “I have my life, you have yours. I do fire-starting shit, you do your volunteering shit. We run the hotel together, and that’s about all we have in common.”

“You’re my brother,” Frank said quietly. “If V.F.D. hurt you—”

“As if that even matters to you,” Ernest scoffed. “And for the record, your precious V.F.D. didn’t do anything this time. I just had a bad break up.”

“You’re always my first priority, Ernest,” Frank said with ferocity, causing his triplet to look up in surprise. “You and Dewey. I want both of you to be safe more than anything.”

At that moment, the elevator doors opened with a _ding_. Ernest got off, and hesitated. He looked back to see Frank’s usually inscrutable features contorting into something akin to pain — and possibly love. Ernest startled but when he turned back for a second look, the doors slid shut.

* * *

“You’re back,” Beatrice said, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Bertrand replied pleasantly.

“I heard rumors that you had joined the fire starters.”

“And that’s all they are. Rumors.”

Beatrice smiled slightly. “I’m glad. C’mere.” She pulled him into a tight hug.

Bertrand blushed. It wasn’t unusual — Beatrice Baudelaire was known for being physically affectionate — but it felt nice to have someone not treat him like a threat. Ever since the rebellion, then his relationship with Ernest, reputation of being a perfect volunteer had been utterly ruined.

“Are you hungry?” Beatrice asked, pulling away. “Because I certainly am. Perhaps you would like to join me for dinner?”

“I mean sure, that sounds good.”

“Great, it’s a date then!” Beatrice flashed him a big, toothy smile before bounding out of the room, leaving behind a very flustered Bertrand. His face turned a light pink color and he adjusted his glasses nervously. He was going on a date.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i'll post the second and last chapter some time this week.


End file.
